Tangled Up In Blue
by Frohike
Summary: Scully explains her actions in Patience.


Title: Tangled Up In Blue  
Author: Frohike  
Email: frohike51@aol.com  
Category: ScullyAngst  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: Little ones for Patience and a few from last season as well. Nothing that will ruin an episode, I promise.  
Distribution: Anywhere you want, just leave my name and email addy intact. Drop me a line to let me know where it's going, so I can come visit sometime.  
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are property of FOX and 1013 Productions. They aren't mine, never have been, never will be. I just like to play with them from time to time. No harm intended, CC. 

This came from an ongoing fight...um, discussion, between a good friend and myself. She even accused me of being a Scullyist, for which I called her an unkind, but accurate, name. *g* Let me make this perfectly clear, I am not a Scullyist! I respect and understand the character, even though there are times when I want to smack some sense into her, but my allegiance is to the pairing and not to an individual. The X-Files is about Mulder AND Scully, not Mulder OR Scully. You can't have one without the other. Just my two cents worth.

Oh, in case anyone cares, I am working on part of the If Alex Fell series. This was just a little distraction I felt compelled to put down in the meantime.

Feedback: Yes please. Praise will make my day. Flames will be used to lure Alex to my door. Either way, I win. Can you say 'incendiary device'? Sorry, inside joke. Talk to me people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"We always did feel the same,   
We just saw it from a different point of view,  
Tangled up in blue." Bob Dylan

I hear them. The whispers behind my back, the snide comments in the ladies room, when they think I'm not around. For the last eight years I've listened to them, ignored them, passed them off as the small-minded individuals they are, but now, given my condition, I can no longer ignore. Each comment cuts me to the quick and it's becoming harder and harder to keep a stiff upper lip. 

At the start, the rumors merely amused me. We'd been working together for a few months when the first whispers of Mr. and Mrs. Spooky surfaced. At first, we both paid no attention, but as the year progressed, you began to take it personally for me. You hated that your reputation was hurting my career and no matter how many times I told you that I wasn't concerned, you never really believed me. You wanted to protect me from harm, both personally and professionally. This would be a continuing theme in our relationship from there on out.

Our partnership slowly developed into friendship. You learned to trust me and that trust turned to love. I can see it now, in retrospect. You loved me first; you were waiting for me to catch up. I was so caught up in being the perfect daughter, the perfect agent, that I couldn't see what was right in front of me. Even after I realized that my feelings for you went beyond friendship, I couldn't admit it to myself. I couldn't risk losing everything I had worked so hard for, not even in the name of love. I was my father's child, single-minded to a fault, giving up everything for the sake of pride and appearances. 

In the last year, everything changed. The trip to Africa opened my eyes to very real possibility of extraterrestrial intervention, but still I remained skeptical, needing more. No matter how much I saw, all these years later, I was still afraid to believe. 

The appearance of Albert Hosteen in my apartment startled me, but I accepted his intrusion, welcomed his comforting presence. When you told me that Albert had died and could not have been with me on those days, my strength of conviction finally dissolved. I didn't know who to believe, whom to trust, other than you. We clung to each other at that moment, wanting more, but in the end, I walked away. I always walked away.

Our New Year's Eve brush with the undead signaled another change for us. We saw Frank Black reunited with daughter and perhaps, reunited with his own sense of well being. We stood in the lounge, watching as he and Jordan walk away, then heard the sounds of excitement in Times Square on the television. I looked up to watch as the ball dropped slowly, to bring in the new year. You didn't know it, but I could see you staring at me as well. When the ball hit bottom, I turned and smiled at you. You leaned in and before I could think, you kissed me. I wanted so much to fall into that kiss and stay there, but no, being my typical self; I backed away, smiling briefly before becoming serious again. Poor Mulder, I'm not sure what you were expecting, but that wasn't it. Why didn't I just put my arms around you? Would it have been so bad? Would the world have ended? Instead, we left the hospital, side by side, and drove home in relative silence. You dropped me off at my place with a simple 'good night, Scully'. 

A few months later, you asked me to go to England to investigate crop circles. Crop circles? Who did you think you were kidding with that anyway? I have always believed that there was an ulterior motive to that trip, but I never asked you about it. Maybe, if Daniel hadn't chosen that moment to reappear, I would have asked. Maybe I would have even gone with you, I don't know. Instead, you went without me, leaving me to face my past and embark on a journey of self-discovery. I didn't like some of what I saw. It made me realized what I'd been giving up all this time. When you returned, I went to you to share what I had learned. You took care of me, like you always do, tea and sympathy, an understanding ear, a blanket against the chill. I woke up alone, on the couch and decided it was time for me to go. As I walked by your bedroom, I peered in and saw you sleeping. My feet carried me in, against my better judgment. I stood there, watching you sleep, unable to resist the urge to push the hair off of your face. You hummed contentedly and moved toward my hand. I pulled it away, but you reached out, lightly touching my fingers. The die was cast, I knew what I had been missing and I was no longer willing to go without for some misguided notion of who Dana Scully was supposed to be. You watched as I pulled the shirt up over my head, undid the zipper on my skirt. You pulled back the sheet and invited me in without question, without words. That night, you set me free, or maybe we set each other free.

We kept this new development in our relationship to ourselves, but I'm reasonably sure that Skinner sensed the change. He never said anything to us, never gave any outward indication, but something told me that he knew. 

For the first time in a very long time, I was happy. I wonder if you knew that. I told you the night we sat and watched Caddyshack together, after our encounter with Jenn, but I'm not entirely sure you believed me. That wicked little grin you gave me when I asked what your final wish had been, set off a chain of events and in the process, I never got around to finding out. I wonder now, if that last wish had to do with my current state of being. Did you use that wish on me, on us? You never said and maybe it's best to not think about it. Either way, we were blessed with a miracle that night, and one should never question a miracle, just be thankful.

A few weeks ago, the full impact of your disappearance hit home. I was sitting at your desk, going over the latest case file that Agent Doggett and myself were being called to investigate, when I heard voices in the hall. Doggett appeared with two other agents in tow. They were peering into the office like it was a tourist attraction; some place to be gawked at, photographed and talked about with their friends. I resented that, Mulder. I can't begin to tell you how much I resented their attitude and Doggett's. How dare he act as a tour guide for the curious! I wanted to tear into him, instead, I became you. I turned on the projector and gave him slide show reminiscent of the one you first gave me. For the remainder of this case, I was you, Mulder. It happened without my knowledge or consent, but it happened all the same. I made leaps of faith based more on instinct than on hard science. Jumped into situations without fully thinking them through, sound familiar? Doggett called me on it toward the end of the investigation; told me that I shouldn't try so hard to be you. I hadn't realized that's what I was doing, until he said it. Did I listen to him? No, I went right on trying to do things the way you would have done them. We solved the case, as much as we ever solve an x-file anyway. 

Over the last few weeks, I've thought about what Doggett said. He was right, Mulder. I was trying to be you; I can't do that anymore. I'm going to try to find Scully again; the one you know, the one you fell in love with. I'm starting by getting Doggett a desk. That may seem trivial to you, but I need to do this. I never needed a desk; it was never about the damned desk. In a strange way, I think we became closer for lack of a second one. It forced us to share the office, with no real sense of my space/your space. It was generally accepted that we had our own space, but we always had a 'what's mine is yours' attitude about the office. I don't want that with Doggett. I want him to have his space; I need the boundaries defined. I'll put his name on the door for the same reason. Skinner's having mine put up as well. I didn't ask for it, but it'll there all the same. 

One last thing, I'm putting your nameplate in the top drawer. I'm not putting you away, Mulder; I'm not giving up. I need to protect you from the curious. It's a small thing, a gesture that will more than likely be seen as cold and calculating by the rest of the world, but it's all I have; it's the only way I know of to protect you. I pray that you'll understand and forgive me, when you return. 


End file.
